"You can crash, of course," laughed Linda. "If you steer straight for another plane, or a tree. But tail-spins are practically impossible; they say no matter what happens the autogiro settles to the ground like a tired hen. It's the principle of centrifugal force—it can't fail."
"Oh, yeah?" remarked Louise, hiding a yawn.
"What I want your opinion on, Ted," added Linda, turning to the young man, "is the engine. You know more about engines than I do."
"I'm not so sure of that last," he replied, modestly. "Looks O.K. to me—I've been examining it while you girls chattered."
The salesman, who had been listening to the conversation, suddenly burst into a smile. He had been wondering where he had seen that girl before. Now he knew! Her pictures had been in every newspaper in the country. She was Linda Carlton, of course!
"You're Miss Carlton, aren't you?" he demanded, excitedly. "The girl who flew to Paris alone?"
"Yes," answered Linda, indifferently. She didn't want to talk ancient history now. "This is a P C A—2, isn't it?" she inquired, to bring the man to the subject of autogiros.
"Yes. Fifteen thousand dollars. I suppose it's not necessary to tell you what instruments it is equipped with—an experienced flyer like yourself can recognize them by a glance into the pilot's cock-pit."
"Yes, I see them. And I had a circular besides.... It's complete, all right. The only thing I don't like about it is the separate passenger's cock-pit. My Arrow Pursuit had a companion cock-pit."